#is the Yael and Mercy tag

[serenpedac]

OCs as planets

I’ve seen this uquiz go around and obviously had to do it for my OCs. Because I won’t miss a chance to talk about astronomy, I also added the first thing that each planet made me think about.

Putting it under a cut and not tagging anyone, because I doubt astronomy ramblings are what anyone is following me for and I don't want people to feel obligated to read this, but if you want do the quiz, please feel free to tag me <3

Yael

venus

passionate. romantic. loving to be loved. courtship. adoration and taste. you are your own personal aesthetic. you are hand written love letters in copper ink. you are "let me show you just how much i can love you." you are royalty and class. love has no bounds with you. your heart is wrapped in chocolate tin foil. you attract what you manifest so keep believing in love. it is you and you, it.

I swear this didn’t come to mind just because I started watching the Bridgerton prequel series last weekend, haha, but the Venus transit, the phenomenon of Venus passing between the Earth and the Sun, has been key in determining the  distance between Earth and the Sun. Before the 18th century, Kepler’s laws had given an idea of the relative scales within the solar system, but actual distances were very hard to measure. However, astronomers realised they would be able to derive the Earth-Sun distance (the “astronomical unit”, au) if they had measurements of the duration of the transit from different places across the globe. I won’t go into the maths, but the idea is that Venus crosses a different part of the Sun if seen from different locations. With some trigonometry (simplified example here, since it has images that explain this better than words can), distances can be calculated.

In order to get these measurements, entire expeditions were coordinated in the 17th and 18th century! They eventually ended up with a value that was only about 3% off from the value we know it to be today, which is pretty impressive.

Gabi

saturn

patient. stable. reliable. preserving and diligent. your capacity to hold focus on something you choose to is unmatched by all other planets. you were made for hard work that you love and that you know is rewarding. you are the shoulder that everyone wants to cry on, so remember you can lean on yourself when it seems there is no one else. there is nothing wrong with being self sufficient. you are justice and evenly balanced scales.

While I love this answer for Gabi, nothing really came to mind at first, other than the obvious rings. But then I started thinking about planetary migration, which is very cool. There’s this theory called the Grand tack hypothesis that says Jupiter formed a lot closer to the Sun than where it is now. It then started moving even closer to the Sun, until it got caught into a gravitational resonance with Saturn, and both migrated farther out, eventually ending up in their current positions. 

Laura

uranus

innovative. unpredictable. resourceful. imaginative. creativity in science and disruption. oh, uranus. you were dealt the cards that don't have much to offer, but luckily you can always make them work. you are acrylic paint that has been plastered over the same canvas so many times that it is starting to have those little grooves of texture. you are ever-changing and suddenly it stops. and starts again. keep moving. nothing is wrong with not wanting to sit still.

This is a fun one! While the rotational axes of the other planets in our solar system are more or less perpendicular to their orbital plane, for Uranus, it’s tilted some 90 degrees. Basically, Uranus is lying on its side and is “rolling” along its orbit around the Sun. This means it are its poles that are pointed at the Sun—one at a time, of course — and not just its equator. Several theories exist to explain this odd orientation of the rotational axis, for example collisions with other objects.

Melike

neptune

mercy. kindness. sweet. forgiving and compassionate. you are second chances and sometimes third. you are "its ok because everyone makes mistakes." you are "i forgive you as long as you are learning." you are not held down by the demands of your ego. you believe and right and fair. open mindedness and friendship. you are mystical and magical, observant and the smell of warm bread in the morning.

Neptune is interesting, because it wasn’t discovered as a planet by observations like the other major planets, but through a comparison between models and real-life measurements of the orbit of Uranus. A discrepancy between the two was found, which was postulated to be cause by the gravitational influence of another planet: Neptune. Indeed, some years later, Neptune was “discovered”. I say “discovered”, because the planet had already been observed several centuries before by Galileo Galilei, but he thought it was a star. The thing I like about this is how it shows how theories and observations can complement each other!

[cljordan-imperium]

CHARACTER THEME SONG TAG

Rules: share songs that fit characters from your WIP. The songs can be what they'd have as entrance music, their boss/hero theme, something that goes along with their personality, or simply suits their vibe

I was tagged by @saltysupercomputer

I'm going to tag: @zoya-writes @writerfae @ren-c-leyn (no pressure) and OPEN TAG

I do have songs for certain characters that inspire them, so I'm going to give you all of them that have them. You can hate me later.

ABRIELLA

Theme song - Heavy is the Crown by Daughtry

Past - Fight Song by Rachel Platten

Regarding Cruz - Under Your Scars by Godsmack

CRUZ

Theme Song - You're Going Down by Sick Puppies and I Will Not Bow by Breaking Benjamin

Regarding Brie - I'll Follow You by Shinedown

DEACON

Theme Song - Unstoppable by The Score

OLLY

Theme Song - No Mercy by Zayde Wolf

DEZ

Theme Song - Angel With A Shotgun by The Cab

ALL HORSEMEN

When Legends Rise by Godsmack

Not Gonna Die by Skillet

Ready Set Let's Go by Sam Tinnesz

THINIUS - One For The Money by Escape The Fate

DELILAH - All Eyes On You by Smash Into Pieces

TALON - My Name Is by Once Monsters

MITHOS - My Story by LEET Mob

LEANDRE - Heroes by Zayde Wolf

RAGUEL - Made For This by City Wolf

ARIOCH - For the Glory by All Good Things

ANNA - Unstoppable by RED

YAEL - Unbreakable by Firelight

GAIL - Footprints On The Moon by Gabby Barrett

LUCIFER - Villain by Theory of a Deadman

ANNA - W.I.T.C.H. by Devon Cole

GRAE & ADA - Rewrite the Stars by Zac Effron & Zenadaya

The Imperium Chronicles Tag List - @writingpotato07 @saltysupercomputer @ceph-the-ghost-writer @careful-pyromancer @late-to-the-fandom

[docholligay]

Set Fire to the Rain

@rhiorhino‘s prompt was “Tell me literally everything about Yael so here is the beginning of their lives intertwining. I hope you like it. 

Mercy’s mother had told her, that everything existing had its opposite. That light could not exist without the shadow, that the land was made real by the sea, that good could only persevere if there was the wall of evil to climb, and this was why so many things we would rather not have were present in this world.  That all these things were present in all humanity, as well.

Like many things her mother had said to her, it had not quite clicked into place until she was much older.

She had been thirteen, and did not understand these things, staring into a fire as other children who had lost just as much as she had warbled Hebrew songs off key. She looked down at the nametag on her chest, bearing a simple “Angela” and the small flags of the languages she spoke.

She’d stopped trying to correct the pronunciation of her name. It was mostly English spoken here, and she imagined it would be the same as she went into the international medical community. It didn’t matter anyway.

They put the languages they spoke, but not any city or country, seemingly noting that they were nothing but orphans and refugees from their own lives, gathered up here by kindly adults who had lost just as much. One of the summer camps where they would tell their donors was a place to ‘let kids be kids’ and forget their problems, but that all of them knew was a place to let them remember their problems, to let them cry and feel without any uncomfortable people scrambling for words to say.

A place where they could learn to be this, as well.

Being a Jew was always about juggling many identities at once.

Her junior counselor settled down on the log next to her, not much older than her but a few years out from her own tragedy. She was not tall, but she had a hungry leanness to her, her auburn hair tied back simply in a low braid, tied with a leather thong at the end, streams of it whisping around her face even still. She wore a beat up leather cowboy hat that somehow looked right on her head, as preposterous as it might have looked on anyone else’s, and her counselor’s t-shirt hung loosely over the buckle of her belt.

Yael, her name tag said, though one of the other campers had told Angela that was really her middle name. She’d only started using it last year. Angela understood. In the way that it felt easy to let go of the sound her name had made on her parents’ lips, she imagined it must be so simple to slip into another name entirely.

There was the name of who you were before, and you were after.

Abraham had done no less.

Yael leaned forward wordlessly, staring into the fire as the singing went on around her. Angela looked over to her. The fire looked at home in her eyes, and it was true that for the rest of Yael’s life, Angela would never see it die out. Her family’s ranch was always burning in her eyes, and because it never left her vision, she never saw the flowers that grew later.

Well, that would not be entirely true. She would see them again, when she took the ranch back from those that had swooped in after the tragedy, but by then she would not be a creature that could work the earth, only burn it herself, and it was her own, second, tragedy that Yael would be reflective enough to realize that was true. That she had been made into something else.

Fire warps and twists even the strongest metal sometimes, it seems.

“You doin’ alright?” Her voice stretched out long and lazy.

Yael had been uncommonly kind ot her. Angela hadn’t even wanted to be here, had shaken her head and said she would just stay at the tiny room in the shared apartment where she carefully tried to mete out her parents’ money and make it last till she got through all her schooling. But her professor insisted. She was so young, however old her education made her seem, and she needed to be with others like her. There were so many young Jews who had been hard-hit lately.

Yael had somehow seemed to know this, and sat next to her on the bus up to the mountain, smiling as she looped a bunch of flowers she’d picked from the field, one over and around the other, until she’s made a crown, and plopped it onto Angela’s head with a grin. Did that when were kids, she’d said, as though it were a lifetime away.  Yael hadn’t asked anything about where she’d come from or what she’d lost. Everyone’s story was similar enough, she seemed to figure. It would be years before she heard Yael’s.

There was something in them both, that drew them together, even more so than being in the same box as everyone at this camp.

Angela nodded, hands clasped in her lap, a woman by Jewish tradition but feeling so very much a child.

Yael picked a stray bit of wheatgrass and gnawed on the end of it thoughtfully.

“You sure ‘bout that?”

There were many things that Yael would be accused of,.over the course of her lifetime, and the regrettable fact was that most of them were true, but no one would ever accuse Yael of lack of observation, or the ability to delude herself or accept delusion.

“I am afraid.”

Angela hadn’t meant to say it. People had told her how brave she was almost daily, and she wanted it to be true, she wanted to be fearless and bold and the unstoppable prodigy they all believed her to be. But when she sat in her room, alone, and the night crept in, she did not feel brave. She did not feel like a prodigy. She felt like a little girl, who was without anyone now.

Yael considered a moment, still chewing on the end of the weed. She never looked over to Angela, as if they were have a conversation in parallel, instead of revealing anything to each other.

“Think we’re all afraid, from time to time. Be stupid not to be. Sides all that,” she plunked another blade of grass and whirled it around her finger as she flicked an eyebrow, “they like us scared.”

Sometimes Angela struggled to understand Yael. Angela’s English was very good, but Yael drew words together, and left some out, and said even questions as if they were statements. The ahs and uhs and the aggressive r sometimes got tumbled in her head, and she had to think for a moment, a dialect her mother had never prepared her for.

She would laugh, so many years later, when the difficulties of even Tracerian English were nothing to her, how she found entirely new ways not to understand Yael. For Yael not to understand her.

“I do not…” Angela took a deep breath, blinking back tears. “I am wanting to be a doctor. To repair the world. To help. Only… only I am only having little money.”

“Thought school was free in Europe. S’where you’re from, right?” Yaels’ forehead furrowed, and the question came out half-offended.

Angela shook her head sadly as one of the adult counselors started a new song, about going into the unknown, without the promise of anything, but the hope of everything.

“It is very,” she could not stop herself, “not expensive, only--the house was destroyed when they--and I have to rent a room--I do not know--”

Yael placed her hand on Angela’s knee, gave it a pat,and shook her head, still looking into the fire. “I get it. Alright now.”

They sat in silence for a moment, and then Yael joined in the song, softly but with a sense of steel and powder behind it, as if she was making a promise to herself that she’d sign in blood. Angela sat, looking at her feet, wondering where they would go, looking at Yael’s hand, wondering where it would lead her, looking at the edge of the fire, envying its ability to burn. She did not burn. She had seen enough of burning, and would not embrace it.

She may never go to school, and she may never change the world, but she had sworn, picking through the rubble of what had once been her life, that the world would never change her.

Yael took the wheatgrass out of her mouth and tossed it into the flame, where it alit immediately, twisting as it burned.

“Tired of bein’ afraid. I’m gonna make them scared a me, is what I’m gonna do.”

Angela put her hand on Yael’s, and Yael looked at her for the first time, their bright blue eyes siblings but never twins, two halves of the same whole.

“You’ll go.” She said it not as a note of hope, but as if she were giving a command. “You get in, I’ll take care of it.”

Angela’s face contorted in confusion. “What? I...I do not understand.”

Yael withdrew her hand, turned her gaze back to the fire, and sighed. “I have plans for this comin’ year. You give me your address in, where is it?”

“Switzerland.”

“Right,” she nodded, “You tell me where it is, I’ll do my level best to help you. Might be scattershot, but I will make it my solemn duty.”

Yael had been uncommonly kind to her, from the day she had stepped onto the bus, and Angela had not known why. There was no reason that she were any more or less deserving than any of the children here, for they were all still children, even Yael, who gave herself such adult responsibility and bearing.

Do be a Jew was to question, her father had said.

“Why?” she half whispered.

Yael scoffed. “Because I think you can be something I ain’t strong enough to be, Angie. Because someone's gotta be your left hand.”

They sat, watching the fire crackle and pop and burn, sending bits of light out into the darkness, even knowing they would likely be extinguished, the fire still had to try. Yael and Angela sat next to each other, for maybe the last time in their lives before Yael would always sit across, and sang, and were children for one more moment.

Everything existing had its opposite, her mother had told her, and when Angela was a woman not only by tradition, but by experience, she would come to understand that opposites were not only black and white, but the blue of a healing rain and the orange of a blazing fire.

Yael would be hers.

[bloblobber-propaganda]

@cuttlefishcolor tagged me in this meme to spell your url with song titles so now you all get a glimpse into my abhorrent music tastes, be warned beyond this point lies cringe

Can’t Sleep Love- Pentatonix

All Small Beasts Should Have Bows in Their Tails- Ellinoora

New Soul - Yael Naim

Nobody - Mitski

Everything Stays - Olivia Olsen

Drop Pop Candy - Giga P

Rainbow Veins - Owl City

Angels - Owl City

I Do Adore - Mindy Gledhill

Neon Pegasus - Parry Gripp

Bad Guy - Set it Off

Oh No! -Marina and the Diamonds

Weightless- Macaroni Union

Strawberry Blond - Mitski

I am tagging no one because I am a merciful being, Godspeed all of you

[hecataes]

Wolf and Bellows Worldbuilding: How the Magic Works ( graphic template by honeypsd )

On October 27th in the year 2000, two teenagers accidentally release magic into the town of Plainview, Connecticut. The names of these oblivious girls are Yael and Alexandra --- and as special as their story might be, it makes up only the smallest fraction of magic’s long history. 

The story of how magic came to live in Plainview in the first place is a difficult one, with many gaps in the narrative and questions that can never be answered. Even the few who know of magic and seek to learn its history cannot do more than guess the point at which a potent magical source was transported from Europe to the New World. No one knows how it was contained for centuries following the Middle Ages. No one knows who kept it hidden until 1662, when a tiny slip-up would condemn twenty innocent Salem citizens to hanging. There are, however, some who know how this magic came to rest in Plainview; they claim it arrived in the hands of a dead woman named Mercy Collins. 

But Mercy’s story must come another time. For now, here are seven basic truths about magic:

I. It is not typically innate to a person; rather, any sentient creature can harness magic if they are physically close to a magical token. The nearer they are to the token, the stronger their magic will be. 

II. A token can be any non-living object. Once it holds magic, it becomes immune to breakage or decay of any kind.

III. Tokens can be ‘bound’ through a magical procedure involving six witnesses and a sacrifice. The result is that no one can harness that token’s magic anymore... unless it later becomes un-bound, of course.

IV. When harnessed, magic allows one to manipulate the physical world around them in whatever ways they desire. The only limitation is that one must be able to see the object(s) they are manipulating. 

V. The harnessing of magic is nonverbal. Those who have difficulty may use hand gestures to guide the forces along, but the most powerful magic is usually done without the bearer even moving. 

VI. Sorcerers are sentient creatures --- typically humans --- who do not need to be near a token in order to harness magic. They contain their own piece of magic, able to be harnessed both by themselves and by any other creature who is made aware of its existence. As sorcerers are extremely rare, little is known as to how or why magic comes to exist inside of them. 

VII. It is imperative to be careful when one is close to a magical token. For humans, magic has a way of interacting with the mind and drawing out forbidden impulses and dark desires. If one is not cautious, they may harness magic in dangerous --- even disastrous --- ways, without even meaning to. The same is true of sorcerers, whether they are near a token or not. 

VIII. Magic itself is, to an extent, sentient. It longs for control and autonomy, and finds that the best way to do so is by causing others to enact chaos and destruction, gradually taking over their minds until they are little more than vessels for magic. They become corrupted, believing that they are still deciding their own actions when, in reality, they are lost to magic. In all of history, few have ever returned.

tagging: @richardsikens​ @that-random-citizen​ @denounments​ @drowsy-quill​ @zeucs​ @pechaes​ @frankensteinn​ @suswriting​ @knife-dragon​ @foxglovefemme​​ @wwillowisp @ditzysworld @hwrfta​ @madsaialik @ladywithalamp @quilloftheclouds @evelyn-paine @smokedcapybara @bebewrites @nallthatjazz

[vinkaa]

Rules: Put your playlist on shuffle and post the first 10 songs that come up!

I was tagged by lovely @thegrumpyjournalist Thank you so much!  ☆ ～('▽^人)

1. Not What I Meant by dodie feat. Lewis Watson

2. Vitamins by Mili  feat. world's end girlfriend

3. Connecting by  halyosy feat. Vocaloid

4. Take Me or Leave Me from Rent 

5. New Soul by Yael Naim

6. When (Live) by dodie 

7. All You Wanna Do from Six The Musical

8.  Say it by  Yorushika

9. Castle by Halsey 

10. Face My Fears by Hikaru Utada & Skrillex

I’m tagging @mercy-here @wonderlandmoonrose7 @twisted-pride @ass-sass-sin-o @raven-archives @agniechchan 

[ooolympia]

Bonjour, j'espère que tu vas bien. J'aime beaucoup ton travail, tu as vraiment des doigts de fée ♥ Serais-tu inspirée par la jolie Yael Shelbia ? Bonne journée.

Bonsoir ! Ça va merci, j’espère que toi aussi ♥ voilà pour la jolie Yael Shelbia, en espérant qu’ils te plairont https://ooolympia.tumblr.com/tagged/yael-shelbia Bonne soirée ♥

[terraether]

I was tagged by @just-whelmed to put my music on shuffle and list the first 10 songs and favorite lyrics from them! (Thanks for the tag, this should be fun since im obsessed with music !)

1. Fool for Love by Lord Huron "I stare into the endless sky, And the sordid tale of my life goes by. I drift into the great unknown, I really don't know where I'm going."

2. East by Sleeping at Last **this is gonna be hard bc this song is lyrical genius "I set out to rule the world With only a paper shield and a wooden sword. No mountain dare stand in my way, Even the oceans tremble in my wake. The tide is brave, but always retreats. Even the sand, it cowers under my feet. My kingdom towers above it all, While I sleep safe and sound in my cardboard walls."

3. New Soul by Yael Naïm "I'm a new soul I came to this strange world Hoping I could learn a bit bout how to give and take. But since I came here felt the joy and the fear Finding myself making every possible mistake."

4. Electric Love by BØRNS "Drown me. You make my heart beat like the rain. Surround me. Hold me deep beneath your waves."

5. Rules by Jayme Dee "You say you know love, but you are just reflecting words you hear."

6. Sun by Sleeping at Last "We may fall in love every time we open up our eyes." **one of my all time favorite lyrics

7. Sleep on the Floor by The Lumineers "If the sun don't shine on me today, If the subways flood and bridges break, Will you lay yourself down and dig your grave? Or will you rail against your dying day?"

8. Mercy! You Need Saving by Neulore "I built an altar below that withered tree For you to kneel, for me to heal your broken wings. Thirsty now from all your running days. The cup I pour, you'll thirst no more My wine will restore."

9. What Do I Know? by Ed Sheeran (my current fave song. Y'all should check out ➗) "Just remember life is more than fittin' in your jeans. Just love and understanding, positivity."

10. Last Chance by Emily Kinney "When the world is on fire but your heart is on ice, it's hard to know what's wrong and what's right. But if you wanna feel your blood burn, get to the floor. Scream to God, "I wanted more!" tagging @merrmaids @fairytales-and-apocalypses @ironheartwriter uh and anyone else !!

[unknownmepost]

rules: spell your url with song titles (only using each artist once) and tag ten people.

I was tagged by @krisiswhoiam

Uptown Funk - Mark Ronson feat. Bruno Mars

Naive - The Kooks

Killing Me Softly - The Fugees

Never Give Up - Sia

One Call Away - Charlie Puth

Whatever - Cro

New Soul - Yael Naim

Mercy - Shawn Mendes

Edge Of Glory - Lady Gaga

I don’t really feel like tagging anyone, but if a mutual wants to participate, feel free :)

[docholligay]

All y’all who’ve wanted some more Mercy and Yael interaction/friendship/conflict (it is all of them, all the time) are hopefully going to be pleased soon. 

If this fic lets itself be finished.

She had been thirteen, and did not understand these things, staring into a fire as other children who had lost just as much as she had warbled Hebrew songs off key. She looked down at the nametag on her chest, bearing a simple “Angela” and the small flags of the languages she spoke.

She’d stopped trying to correct the pronunciation of her name. It was mostly English spoken here, and she imagined it would be the same as she went into the international medical community. It didn’t matter anyway.

They put the languages they spoke, but not any city or country, seemingly noting that they were nothing but orphans and refugees from their own lives, gathered up here by kindly adults who had lost just as much. One of the summer camps where they would tell their donors was a place to ‘let kids be kids’ and forget their problems, but that all of them knew was a place to let them remember their problems, to let them cry and feel without any uncomfortable people scrambling for words to say.

A place where they could learn to be this, as well.

Being a Jew was always about juggling many identities at once.

Her junior counselor settled down on the log next to her, not much older than her but a few years out from her own tragedy. She was not tall, but she had a hungry leanness to her, her auburn hair tied back simply in a low braid, tied with a leather thong at the end, streams of it whisping around her face even still. She wore a beat up leather cowboy hat that somehow looked right on her head, as preposterous as it might have looked on anyone else’s, and her counselor’s t-shirt hung loosely over the buckle of her belt.

Yael, her name tag said, though one of the other campers had told Angela that was really her middle name. She’d only started using it last year. Angela understood. In the way that it felt easy to let go of the sound her name had made on her parents’ lips, she imagined it must be so simple to slip into another name entirely.

There was the name of who you were before, and you were after.

Abraham had done no less.

[docholligay]

The End of the Chuck-Line Rider

Hello! I wrote this for @rhiorhino, a McCree fic, as she is the only one who has ever commissioned me for McCree. I hope you like it, it gave me some trouble, but I think it turned out with some merit. It takes place after McCree rejoins my Overwatch, and you can find where it is in the fics here. About 2400 words. 

Jesse McCree had spent the whole of his life bouncing from job to job, group to group, and it was the same in the city. He rode the line out to Brixton and Whitechapel and Poplar, sure as he’d bounced from Deadlock to Blackwatch to Talon. 

But sometimes he got tired of the bouncing, and he went to Winston’s house. 

Winston’s house was more than just a house, was why. A large, expansive place that had once been a warehouse, it should be grey and gloomy still surrounded by other warehouses, but Tracer, long before she had any capacity as commander, before there even was a second Overwatch, had painted it in lovely cheerful colors, and planted a few rows of flowers around the front stairs. It was a strange sight in the middle of the industrial park, lacking a quality of covertness one might have expected from the place.

For you see, it housed more than just Winston’s couch. It housed his lab, Mercy’s exam rooms and medical center, it housed arms lockers and a garage for D.va to tinker with her mech. Pharah had made herself busy digging out the bottom of the place to make a training room.

And it was for this reason that McCree felt he could be there. It was a sort of satellite headquarters for Overwatch, even if the official office was above some sort of fry shop off Well Street. He was a member of Overwatch, and the dog tags that clinked at his chest were proof of that. So he was allowed to be here, and when he tired of his tiny room, and of wandering around the city, he came here.

Winston had not yet discovered a way to keep him out of the kitchen, as it happened to be the only kitchen in the place, wide and generously spaced as the rest of the house, built for Winston and tolerated for McCree.

He was rubbing his gun idly as he sat there, drinking the coffee that bubbled out of Mercy’s housewarming gift to Winston that had probably been more than a little self serving. Pharah couldn’t hardly get mad at him for firearm safety, he thought as he pushed the brush through the bore.

How many times had he cleaned his gun in the past few months? He’d barely had the opportunity to shoot it, on Overwatch’s side, but still he cleaned it, a good habit. A good habit that got him out of the house.

It wasn’t that he wasn’t grateful for his small place across the river and down the way. He’d had a hard enough time finding anything he could afford, not to mention a place that would let him have his cats. And he wasn’t giving up his boys, just so he could have a little bit more comfort, no sir. Whatever else he was, he wasn’t quite that kind of man, to give them up after all they’d taken him through.

Mercy had suggested that Tracer had an extra bed in her home, and McCree hadn’t been dumb enough to ask her if he could stay, not when he was shooting daggers at him with her eyes, on account of she wasn’t allowed to shoot actual bullets at him with her gun.

So he was grateful, after all, for the tiny place he’d found, but it was still a single room with a microwave and a tiny cube of a fridge, with a tile floor and barely enough space for the cat tree.

And so sometimes he cleaned his gun at Winston’s.

The thing about Winston’s is that people came in and out of it, looking at him with various levels of suspicion and regret. He tried not to notice. He noticed anyway. Ashe had often said he had too much of a conscience to be in the Deadlock Gang. Yael had retorted that Ashe was the only one without one, before adding the venomous “rich kid” to the end of the sentence.

McCree had always chuckled when she said that. Until he heard his name said with that same venom, flecked off everyone’s teeth, everywhere.

A high ding rang out over the kitchen.

Tracer walked into the room, bouncing as she walked and humming happily to herself, till she caught sight of McCree, slowing and focusing her as if she’d hit a brick wall. She did not take her eyes off of him as she removed a mug from the cabinet, her canister of tea from next to the kettle, and then, just as quickly, snapped her head back to the task at hand, pouring the boiling water into the bright cup.

“We’re together on the next go round, you know.” McCree looked down the barrel of his gun, the oil from cleaning it filling Winston’s kitchen with its perfume.

She continued making her tea, with no response, pouring a bit of cream as her sloth tea infuser smiled out at McCree, the only one happy to see him.

“Tracer.”

She did not look up. “‘Eard you.”

It had been months since he’d been captured, since he’d decided to defect, since Mercy had passionately argued, using a religion none of them believed in but all felt strangely compelled by on the back of Mercy’s belief, that he should be allowed, that he should have a change to be something different and new.

We wiped down the edge of the barrel. “Think we should, you know, run a drill, maybe? Might be a solid idea to get some sense of the other.”

Tracer reached for the sugar bowl. “Know ‘ow you fight.”

Mercy was the only one who thought of him as a member of the team, if he was being honest. Pharah regarded him with suspicion. Winston hated him passionately, and wasn’t afraid to say so. Dva didn’t seem to care either way, and would tell you that if you asked her, but she somehow forgot to invite him to her apartment for dinners and games with the others.  

Even Jack and Ana got invited to those.

He gave a weak grin and inclined his chin to her. “I mean, you’re the boss.”

She spun around quickly, somehow not spilling a drop of her tea, moving her hand with the motion of her body, practiced in all the ways she moved, and gave a smirk and a nod. “S’right, McCree, I am. See that you don’t forget it.”

But somehow it was Tracer who surprised him the most, a woman he would have said previously didn’t know how to hold grudge, who often joked she didn’t have the attention span for it but who had managed to gather it up to hate McCree. Tracer, who had mostly ignored the divide between Overwatch and Blackwatch, whatever Ana told her to do, who’d taken McCree out to his first gay club and laughed all the while. Tracer who now spoke to him only in snaps, for months.

There was a small part of him that was done with it, and it aimed forward.

“S’true, but,” He set down his gun and crossed his arms “Now Lena, we gotta--”

Tracer slammed her mug onto the countertop, tea spilling out the top of it, sloth tea infuser thrown off the edge of the mug and onto the stone, even his back to McCree, now.

“You SHOT me, Jesse!” Her eyes glowed with hot fire, willing and ready to answer the volley. “And you shot me to kill me! Near succeeded, too, you did, and wouldn’t that ‘ave been a lovely day for you, right? I don’t ‘gotta’ do nothing!”

McCree looked down into his coffee, watching the thin ribbon of cream he occasionally allowed himself circle around aimlessly in the dark.

He knew the feeling.

It would be impossible to explain to Tracer that it wouldn’t have been a lovely day for him, that he felt the full weight of regret like a fifty pound sack of flour the second he’d heard her cry out, the moment he saw the glitter off her blood in the moonlight. He’d thought it was the right thing, but it had been the wrong thing, and his gut had known that, same as Yael said it would. That he’d felt a wave of relief when Reaper had growled that she was still alive, that he had fucked it up, in the way this time at least.

But everything else she said was true, and Tracer had only spoken the truth into the light. That he’d shot her. That he’d shot to kill. And he would have to live with her hatred for the rest of his life, with Winston’s hatred, with everyone’s hatred. He’d made his bed, and now he had to sleep in it, and that was the god’s honest truth.

Tracer stared at him cold, daring him to defend himself, daring him to say anything at all, and he found himself unable to meet her gaze directly. She’d become a commander, in these ensuing years, and not just by title. Her back was straighter, her voice was clearer, and she did not look away.

“I--” He scrambled for a thing to say, trying to quiet the small voice inside of him that said he deserved another chance, that punishment enough had been meted out, that it was a commander’s duty to correct but either correct him and let it be done or send him on his way. The larger part of him, that part that knew what he’d done, fell upon that voice like a wave. “I’m, you know, I apologize.”

“Jesse.” She said very softly, wiping down the counter with a napkin.

“Yah?”

“I’m going to ‘it you in about, oh, one second, most like.”

“What the--”

He did not have time to finish the sentence before a mug came sailing at his face. He raised his arm, and barely blocked it, but the surprise of it caught him, and he stood up, tumbling backward into the wall. His gun was ripped from his hand and scattered across the kitchen floor, and McCree barely had time to worry that Tracer had knocked his gun out of timing before he felt the volley of her fists into his body.

He grabbed out for her, but there was only a small blue light where she had been and a fierce whack across the back of his head. Less than a second. The accelerator she wore every day gave her less than a second of movement.

It was enough, he reflected, as his nose cracked against a tiny fist, and she knew how to use it. The blood spewed out of his nose, and he reflexively grabbed for it, his other arm throwing out a wild punch in the hopes of finding her, but the most he felt was the graze of cotton that was the edge of her shirt. God, but she was fast. He wasn’t used to fighting someone like her, he was a barroom brawler and a one gun cowboy, and her heard her spring off the table ust in enough time to barely shield himself from the full force of her body on top of him, bring them both to the floor.

It seemed to last forever, but it could not have been half a minute before he heard Pharah’s voice, shouting above the sound of McCree’s head slamming to the floor, and the force of a knee falling into his chest.

“Ya rab! Hey!” He felt the knee lift from his chest, “Tracer!” and as he rolled over onto his belly and blinked around, he saw Tracer, her arms firmly held by Pharah, “You cannot do this! Not like this!”

“No, Fareeha!” She pulled away from her, “Tired of being bloody FUCKING told I’m not permitted to get the slightest bit angry over ‘im coming back into the fold, on account of your wife decided it was okay to the ‘ole lot of us!”

“Lena!”

“Let me ‘andle it!” She stomped her foot, as if she were an enraged toddler. “‘E TRIED TO KILL ME!”

“I know!” Pharah sighed, and took a breath. “I was there. It was horrible. I do not blame--”

“Makes no never mind to me.” McCree grumbled. “I had it coming, think we all know that.” He looked up at her through an already-swelling eye. ‘We square, or you not have your pound a flesh?”

It felt good, he would have said, if he had allowed himself to say such things. He wanted to handle it this way , too. That as different as he and Tracer could be, they both had a clear understanding of the fact that sometimes diplomacy didn’t work, and sometimes the only way to let bygones be was to pay it out in blood. That this was the most hopeful he’d felt since joining.

Pharah nodded. “I will get Angela. You will need care.”

She hurried away, Tracer still leaning against the edge of the countertop, arms crossed, the blue of her shirt peppered with blood that McCree was pretty sure was all his. He didn’t remember landing a hit.

He grinned up at her, still tasting the iron of it. “Good training, Commander.”

She gave a weak chuckle. “Fuck, Jesse.” She walked toward him, and extended a hand. “Come on then.”

He looked up. “You gonna hit me again?”

She smiled, and he felt his shoulders relax. “Not today. Most like.”

He took her hand, and as she pulled him up, she paused for a second by his hear. “Promise you this, you ever walk toward Talon again, it’s the last thing you ever do.”

He appreciated knowing what a man can do, and what a man can’t do, and Tracer was good at making that plain. She’d make good on the promise. She kept promises.

McCree straightened up. “Understood.” he went to tip his hat only to realize it wasn’t there, and awkwardly saluted, “Commander Oxton.”

Tracer looked around the kitchen, and put her hands on her hips. “All right then, clean this up,” She shrugged, “guess that’s the lot of it. Hm,” she looked at the floor, “broke me mug.”

McCree grabbed the broom and mop, and when he turned around, Tracer was offering him a handkerchief.